


The best kind of Kiss

by Elenothar



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, prompt: candlelight, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 15:13:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenothar/pseuds/Elenothar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secret Santa prompt fill for Hobbitadvent on tumblr.</p><p>Bilbo and Thorin enjoy a quiet night in winter. There may or may not be a certain amount of staring on Bilbo's part - Thorin and candlelight just go well together. What hobbit could resist?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The best kind of Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://hobbitadvent.tumblr.com/post/71101544881/secret-santa-submission-for-prompt-candlelight-5)

*

A cold draught whistles through Erebor’s stone hallways as the days turn darker and colder. A myriad of torches and lanterns fight the darkness inside the mountain, and great heaters, powered by the forges deeper down, combat the cold in the main halls and the dwarves’ living quarters.

The royal chambers especially are being kept as meticulously warm as possible, with a roaring fire to boot, and yet, for the one Hobbit in the Lonely Mountain – who thankfully isn’t lonely at all – a pervading sense of ice in his veins remains, be it physically justified or not.

Bilbo fights the chill by stuffing himself into more and more layers until he might as well be a dwarf  whose tendency to wear a ridiculous number of layers he now finally begins to understand if winters are usually this cold in their mountain halls – so far has he deviated from common Hobbit fashion.

(Though there have been some unexpected benefits to said necessity, as Thorin seems _most_ appreciative of his changed attire. Trust a dwarf to be possessive enough to have heat flaring in his eyes every time he sees his lover clothed in the traditional garments of his own people.)

The end of the year and with it solstice is nearing, and where usually Bilbo would’ve been full of cheer and energy to prepare for the holiday, he now spends a lot of time in his and Thorin’s chambers, burrowed under a mountain of furs and blankets. He has never particularly liked the cold, even as a little fauntling and memories of the coldest winter the Shire had ever seen, bringing with it death on silent paws don’t exactly help.

The first time Thorin found him huddled in their bed, shaking miserably, the dwarf went into a fretting fit worthy of Dori – Bilbo was too worn even to feel bad about worrying him so much. Within the hour he found himself with more blankets than he knew what to do with (Fíli and Kíli may have been a little overenthusiastic when having been told to get their Uncle something to warm him up) and a very warm dwarf next to him who refused to move for the whole day and threatened to do so indefinitely until Bilbo felt better again. Bilbo is sap enough to say later on, that that warmed him more than anything else.

*

_Bilbo burrowed deeper into the blankets covering their spacious bed, hiding the trembling of his limbs beneath furs and wool. Dimly he thought he heard a wolf’s howl drifting in from the outside and shuddered once._

_Too preoccupied with the cold and his unreasonable dread he didn’t hear Thorin’s approach and jumped when a familiar deep voice sounded next to his ear, filled with worry and concern._

_“Bilbo? What is wrong?”_

_In response Bilbo only turned his face farther into the blanket, imagining his lover’s distressed frown rather than looking upon it._

_“Kurdel? Talk to me, my heart, what is the matter?” Thorin sounded even more worried now, a large hand coming down to rest gently on Bilbo’s hair, the only part of him that peaked out from his warm nest._

_It takes another pleading whisper – “Please, Bilbo” – to make him gather enough will to turn up his face and look at Thorin. He had never been able to resist the stubborn dwarf when he said that word, rarely as the King used it._

_For a moment Thorin simply studied his face, brow drawing together even further as his concern increased at what he saw in the hobbit’s face._

_“Tell me,” he simply said._

_Bilbo looked into warm, warm blue eyes – he remembered them being cold once, but not anymore, not for a while – and opened his mouth. He meant to say ‘I’m fine’ or maybe ‘don’t worry about me’ but what comes out instead is, “It’s cold.”_

_Thorin’s face instantly softened in understanding. They’d talked some about painful histories and private fears and Bilbo must’ve mentioned the cold and_ that _winter at some point._

 _A moment later the bed dipped with Thorin’s added weight as the dwarf wriggled under the blankets until his body cocooned Bilbo’s from behind. A hand came to rest on the hobbit’s hip while another found his hair again, stroking slowly and languidly and Bilbo could_ feel _himself melt into the heat Thorin’s body radiated._

_“I’m here,” Thorin murmured, “the mountain is safe. It’s warm. You’re warm.”_

_The shakes began to subside._

*

The armchair next to the fire soon became Bilbo’s favourite place and he would often sit there with a blanket and a book in his lap, and a cup of tea in easy reach.

Today is no different, as he waits for Thorin to return from yet another council meeting, though he has given up on his reading after the fire has burnt so low as to only leave a few glowing embers. A single candle flickers lazily next to him in the cosy darkness and he may have drifted off for a while until the sound of the door closing startles him awake again.

He leans around the back of the armchair and has to stifle a giggle at the rather comical sight of Thorin attempting to tiptoe towards the bedroom in his clunky, furry boots.

Bilbo must’ve made some noise for Thorin freezes, turning his head towards Bilbo, and then slumps, a rueful smile tugging at his lips.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, voice slightly raspy from talking all afternoon.

Bilbo only smiles at him with the simple joy of having his beloved home for the night. “It’s all right, I was only napping anyways. Join me?”

Thorin apparently doesn’t need to be told twice for he’s moved across the room and slumped down into the chair next to Bilbo’s with a weary sigh before the hobbit can do much more than blink.

He reaches out with one hand, content to feel Thorin’s enveloping it promptly. “Long day?”

Thorin only groans in response, his eyes closed. Bilbo can’t help but stare a little at the play of shadows on the planes of Thorin’s face, the golden candlelight caressing the dwarf’s face in a loving way that Bilbo can understand entirely. Dark lashes throw delicate shadows on his cheeks, regal nose accentuated sharply by the occasional flickers and when Thorin opens his eyes their piercing blue reflects pinpricks of light.

Thorin’s lips curl up in amusement and Bilbo would’ve been more embarrassed to have been caught staring if he didn’t have the right and reason to. His dwarf’s profile his striking on a bad day, but with the light playing over the smooth expanse of skin… well, fluttering butterflies in his stomach it is.

“See something you like?”

The only time that Thorin’s smooth, velvety voice can be any more joyous to listen to than usual is when amusement tinges its rich timbre.

“Always,” he answers frankly, and is rewarded by a soft kiss on the back of his hand and one of those rare, almost blinding smiles.

For a while they sit in content silence, revelling in each other’s presence. Thorin’s unoccupied hand has come up and is lightly stroking Bilbo’s hair, thick fingers carding through slightly messy curls with infinite gentleness – and it’s all Bilbo can do not make embarrassing noises.

Finally Thorin speaks once more, his gaze on the embers in the hearth. “Do you want me to stoke the fire?”

“No, leave it be.” Bilbo glances at the lone candle. Admittedly, it doesn’t do much in the shedding light department, but it flickers so merrily, reminding him of times when he was young and his parents still alive, telling stories by golden candle-light. “This is rather cosy, isn’t it? I haven’t encountered much solstice cheer in this mountain yet.”

Thorin looks faintly regretful, his fingers tightening a little around Bilbo’s hand. “We’re still rebuilding.”

“All the more reason to take at least a day off and celebrate. Yavanna knows we can all use it.”

Thorin hums thoughtfully. “You may be right. At the very least, we can decorate these rooms to look more festive. Fíli and Kíli would love the chance to make a mess.”

“Do you mean you’re intending to let them anywhere near the tinsel?” Bilbo asks in mock-horror, and the candle-flame flickers with the gusts of Thorin’s quiet laughter.

“It would take a greater might than mine to keep them from it.”

Bilbo’s smile turns teasing. “What, you mean the King under the Mountain cannot control his own nephews?”

Thorin nods solemnly. “That’s exactly what I mean.” He leans closer conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Not even Fíli and Kíli?”

Thorin leans even closer, his face inches from Bilbo’s own so that he can see the slightly predatory glint in those blue eyes. “Especially not Fíli and Kíli.”

Before Bilbo can come up with a suitably cheeky reply, warm lips touch upon his and he isn’t ashamed to say that he loses the plot for a while.

And who could blame him, when kisses by candlelight are the best kind there are?


End file.
